


The Fault in Our Stars

by combeferrocious



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Beware, Combeferre is Augustus Waters, Courfeyrac is Isaac, Enjolras doesn't actually have abusive parents, Enjolras is Hazel Grace Lancaster (In Male Form), F/M, Feels, Fluffy, M/M, killer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combeferrocious/pseuds/combeferrocious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I'm Julien Enjolras, and I have stage IV lung cancer.'</p>
<p>Enjolras is struggling to fight lung cancer and the last thing he needs is the perfect guy to come into his life. But this guy, Combeferre, is a cancer survivor who is just as geeky and soft spoken as he is. </p>
<p>TFIOS IS JOHN GREEN'S NOT MINE OKAY! SAME FOR LES MIS CHARACTERS EXCEPT THEY BELONG TO VICTOR HUGO!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so TFIOS is John Green's and Les Mis is Victor Hugo's. This is Chapter 1 where Enjolras heads to the ice cream parlor to meet his 'friends.'

I'm Julien Enjolras, and I have stage IV lung cancer. How lucky am I? Don't take that as sarcasm. I am very aware of how lucky I am. When I was maybe 13, I was going to be the junior high student body president; I was going to be the captain of the debate team; I was going to have a successful life. That's when all hell broke loose. 

I was at Youth Legislatire, ranting on the podium about my bill—a bill on equality for homosexuals. Halfway through the speech, my chest tightened. I was about to have another cough spell. Recently I had gotten this bad cough, probably just strep throat. The coughs broke through, and I couldn't stop. My hands clutched onto the podium. When I was done coughing, I was handed some water. Then I choked on it and coughed it up. The water was no longer clear. It was scarlet.

Immediately I was rushed to the emergency room, where I passed out. I woke up to the news that I had stage IV lung cancer. I was apparently lucky because I shouldn't have lived through what I did. No chemotherapy or medicines. I lived—a warrior is what the nurses called me. My blond hair which I always wore in a long ponytail had to be shaved off. It pained me to do so, but I did it anyway. Now that I'm 16, my hair has grown back to reach my neck. Almost there. 

My youth group for church (even though I'm usually too weak to attend) constantly prays for me: Grantaire, Feuilly, Jehan, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Musichetta, Eponine, Marius, Cosette. And my closest friend, Courfeyrac. We weren't really 'close' close friends, but we weren't acquaintances. We were friends. They pray for me every week. I'm not sure whether or not it's a joke. It's hard to understand. 

Courfeyrac is my friend because he's also a cancer kid. It's in his eyes. I believe it's called retinoblastoma. He's got one glass eye and one real one. He's about to go completely blond though. Thankfully that gets attention off me at youth group. I appreciate the prayers, but I'm on my journey Home, whether I like it or not. Stage IV cancer doesn't mean it won't get worse. It means I'm basically on my death bed.

x~x~x~x~x

"Julien, are you awake?" Mom called to me from the kitchen. 

I subconsciously nodded before replying, "Yeah," in my raspy voice.

It was always a struggle to put clothes on. Not pants, but shirts. I had to take off my cannula—my Life Line as I prefer to call it—, put on a shirt without getting dizzy or hurting myself, and reconnect with my Life Line before I fell down. My lungs were basically a pile of trash inside my chest. Good-for-nothing organs that failed me every day. 

I changed into my red hoodie and jeans before dragging my Buddy (a portable BiPap machine for breathing) behind me as I entered the kitchen. There was my mother, already placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. 

"Thank you, Mom." I said. 

"How are you feeling today?" She questioned, just like every other five hours. 

"I'm okay." I replied, biting on a piece of bacon. 

"Nathaniel called today...he says that the youth group is meeting up at the ice cream parlor downtown. I'll take you there since your father had to run into the office late at night." She explained. 

Yay...more things to keep me social. "Okay." I replied before continuing to eat my breakfast.

That afternoon my mother drove me to the ice cream parlor. I was the only one who had not driven themselves. Even one-eyed Courfeyrac drove himself. Mom didn't trust my lungs while driving, and, frankly, neither did I. 

I dragged my Buddy behind me as I walked inside the cold ice cream parlor. The youth group sat at a round booth, eating their own frozen treats. They waved me over and I slowly walked towards them. As I approached, I noticed an unfamiliar face. A rather handsome one...no, I wouldn't look at him again. I slid into the booth next to Courfeyrac. His girlfriend, Jessica, sat on his other side. 

"Hey, what's up, Julien?" Grantaire said as I made sure Buddy wouldn't tip over on the uneven floor. 

"The sky I guess." I breathed. 

Courfeyrac laughed slightly. He nudged my arm with his elbow. "Julien, I want you to meet my friend over here. His name is Paul Vegas. Met him in the ER a few years ago and we've been friends ever since." He said. 

I looked up to meet the soft brown eyes of the boy. He was probably a good year older than me, and probably a foot taller. There was something about his grin that was exciting to me. Perfect teeth, but his lips wouldn't exactly fit it. That made him even more attractive than before—a flaw on a perfect being.

"Hello, Julien." The boy said. 

I didn't make another acknowledgement other than a slight smile to show I understood his greeting. How was I supposed to breathe properly with my heart pounding in my chest. My god, he was so handsome. Probably Iranian based off his olive skin and black hair. Maybe something else—his voice had a tangy accent that I couldn't exactly detect. Scottish? British? I wasn't sure. But he was going to be the reason that the paramedics would have to take me away because usually my heart doesn't beat so fast.


	2. It's a Metaphor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras talks to Combeferre and gets to know him a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TFIOS belongs to John Green and Les Mis belongs to Victor Hugo.
> 
> PS if you're wondering, Combeferre looks like a facial-hairless Ramin Karimloo with glasses, and he's about 6 foot 9 inches. Enjolras looks like Jamie Campbell Bower with a little shorter hair.

I didn't say much during the meeting. Just another waste of breath that I wouldn't get back. It was obvious the others tried to engage me in the conversation. Eventually, I got tired of it. 

"Hey, Jules, are you going to see the church musical on Sunday?" Eponine asked. 

I shook my head. "I have to go to the hospital again...I'm getting a check up and those can take hours." I breathed. God I sounded like a smoker in his 10th year of smoking. 

Feuilly crossed his arms. "That sucks, man. It's a good musical. I've been helping with stage lights and all. You're missing out." He stated. Did he really just say that? I'm missing out? Feuilly's even the understanding one! I was completely done with this. 

My fists banged on the table and I stood up. "You know what? I've missed out on everything. I never got to do all the things you have. I never got to join the football team. I never got to lead the worship team, or any of that crap because," I breathed heavily, "my lungs are absolute trash, goddammit." 

The entire group was silent. The only thing heard was my hoarse breathing from the rant. Feuilly looked to me. "I'm sorry, Julien-"

"Everyone is. Just save it." I said before grabbing my Buddy's handle and tugging it behind me as I left the parlor. 

Why was everything so hard? Just walking was a struggle. Talking fast without taking a break was a struggle. I leaned against the wall of the parlor, away from the windows. It was raining outside, so I kept under the small pavilion. I texted my mother to come pick me up. Just before I hit send, the parlor bell rang as the door opened. 

I looked in the direction of the door. A person in a navy blue rain jacket, the hood over his head, walked towards my direction. It was more of his left leg walking while his other leg kicked forward. He finally stopped in front of me, and I looked up to him. Words wouldn't come out. Why couldn't I just simply greet him? It was that Paul Vegas boy. God, he was so handsome. His chocolate eyes hidden behind thick rimmed glasses and black hair peaking out from under the blue hood; he was indeed a foot taller than me, but just as skinny. 

"Hello." He said. "I don't believe that we got off on the right foot." 

I blinked. "What do you want me to say?" I asked. 

"What's your name?" "Lawrence." I replied, since that was the name people other than my parents called me. Friends only called me Julien because they think it's a funny name.

Paul Vegas laughed slightly. "No, what's your full name?" He asked. 

"Julien Lawrence Enjolras." I replied. 

He grinned again, that crooked grin that made butterflies flutter in my stomach. "Julien Lawrence Enjolras...Julien is a much more suiting name than Lawrence." He said. 

Great, another insult. "Why? Because it's a funny name and you want to see how long it takes for me to break?" I snapped. 

Paul Vegas looked offended. "Of course not!" He replied. "I simply think Julien is a proper name for you. The name sounds similar to one which belongs to a King. That is why I believe it suits you." He explained. 

My face turned red and I knew it. "You don't really think that." I breathed softly. 

"But I do." Paul Vegas replied. "My name is Paul Vegas Combeferre. Address me however you wish." I smiled slightly. 

"What kind of nickname do you prefer?" I asked. 

Combeferre grinned again. "Whatever you wish." He replied. "I've been called 'Ferre, PV, Paul, Vegas, Peg Leg, Homo, Fag...so whatever you like." 

I frowned at the last names. "Vegas...I like that name." I finally said. "What about those last names?" I asked. 

Combeferre sighed and leaned against the wall as I had done. "Well, I'm gay, and I was diagnosed with osteosarcoma when I was 13." He explained. He bent down and rolled up his right pant leg to reveal a metal limb. 

"You lost your leg." I breathed. 

"Only below the thigh. It was the only way to survive. It took me out of my basketball career, which was actually going pretty well." 

"I'm sorry..." I whispered.

"You may be the first French person I've heard apologize." Combeferre joked. 

I nudged him in the side playfully and looked to my feet. Then I concentrated on breathing, but I couldn't. Combeferre's eyes hadn't left me. "Why are you staring at me?" I asked softly, looking up. 

There was that crooked grin. "Because you're beautiful." He answered simply. 

"Well so is every other boy in that group..." I said, refusing to take the compliment. 

Combeferre shook his head and gently grasped my hand. "Those young men are somewhat attractive. You, Julien, are beautiful." He told me before raising my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. 

I blushed heavily and looked to me feet, smiling. "Thank you, Vegas." I breathed softly. "You know, you're quite appealing t-" 

Combeferre pulled a cigarette out of a tiny box and placed it in his mouth. I snorted and made a pained face. "Damn it." I muttered. 

"What?" He questioned. 

I took a deep breath. "You were like this super handsome perfect guy, and then you just pulled a cigarette out and, just, ugh! It's disgusting and it doesn't make you cool and for Heaven's sake, I have lung cancer and you're just gonna smoke right in front of me?" I rambled. 

Combeferre held his hands up. "Pardon me, Julien, but I don't smoke." He said.

"What?" I questioned. 

The boy grinned and took the cigarette between his teeth. 

"Its a metaphor, see: you put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing." He explained, putting the cigarette back in his mouth. 

I just smiled and looked to my feet. "Sorry for snapping at you...it's just sometimes people are really inconsiderate, you know? I mean, you're this perfect guy and I just kinda expected this to be the Achilles' heel..." I apologized. 

Combeferre cut in, "But I am missing half of my right leg. And I'm a total 'nerd' as football players in high school called it." 

I shook my head. "If that were the fatal flaw, then I wouldn't be talking to you anymore." I said. "And trust me, I don't like wasting my breath." 

He laughed slightly and grinned. "Do you want to come home with me to watch a movie?" He asked. 

I laughed. Wow, I really hadn't truly laughed in a while. "For all I know, you could always be an ax-murderer." I responded. 

Combeferre shook his head and laughed. "There's always that possibility." He said before intertwining his fingers with mine. "Come on, my truck is around the corner." 

I held onto his hand and dragged my Buddy behind me. When we got out from under the pavilion, I quickly retreated to the dry area. Combeferre was pulled back with me since I refused to unlock our hands.

"What's wrong?" He asked. 

"I can't get my Buddy wet-" I stopped immediately after I got that statement out. "Oh my god that sounded so stupid." I mumbled. 

Combeferre tilted his head. "Your Buddy?" He questioned. 

I sighed. "It's my BiPap...what helps me breathe...the tube is my Life Line." I explained. "Yeah I know it's stupid..." 

He shook his head and laughed. "No it's not! It's imaginative! I love that." He exclaimed. "Listen, I've been calling my leg my Lost Fin since I used to swim as well as okay basketball. I'm not judging you for that." 

I smiled and looked to my feet. "Anyway, I can't get it wet, and I can't run or I will drop dead halfway." I said. 

"Can you carry it?" He asked. "Like, does it have straps like a backpack?" I nodded. He shed his rain jacket, put my Buddy on my back, and wrapped me tightly in the coat. "There you go." He said. 

"But you'll get wet." I said. 

"I'm not Elphaba. I won't melt." He joked, and surprisingly, I understood. The jacket was rather large since he was taller than me. I slipped my arms in the sleeves as he tugged the hood over my head. Then he grabbed my hand. "Let's go." He said before leading me to his car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras goes over to Combeferre's house and they talk to each other about their lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TFIOS belongs to John Green and Les Mis to Victor Hugo! Yay! Comment reviews please!

Combeferre led me into his house. He opened the door and immediately shouted, "Mom, I'm back!" 

I flinched slightly at the yell, but followed him into the living room. There was a pitter-patter sound that was gradually getting louder. Then I saw it. A little girl, no more than four years old, ran into Combeferre's open arms. 

He lifted her up and kissed her cheek. "Hey, princess, were you good for Mommy?" He asked. 

The little girl nodded. "Yeah." She said before looking to me. "Paul, who's that?" She whispered as if I couldn't hear her. 

I smiled just a bit. Combeferre looked to me and smiled. "This is Julien Lawrence Enjolras. Call him Julien, though. Julien, this is my baby sister, Daisy." He explained. 

Daisy wrapped her arms around her brother's neck. "Why do you have a think around your nose?" She asked curiously. 

Usually, a parent would have scolded their child for saying such a thing. I never minded it when someone asked me, though. Combeferre didn't get on to his sister for asking the question, which made me feel a lot more comfortable. 

I walked a little closer to the two. "This is a tube that has nubbins, which go in my nose. The tube is connected to this little machine where it blows oxygen into it, which sends it into my nose. In other words, it helps me breathe." I explained.

Daisy nodded as she took in the information. "Can I try?" She asked. 

Combeferre shook his head at his sister. "Daisy, I don't think-" 

"No, no, it's okay. Really it is." I told him. 

He looked as if he were about to say something else, but smiled instead. I took the nubbins out of my nose and unraveled myself from the tube. I set the tube on Daisy's ears and gently slid the nubbins in. "How is it?" I asked. 

Daisy giggled. "It makes it easy to breathe. And it tickles." She replied, looking to her brother who grinned. 

I smiled, and then felt dizzy. Without a second thought, I grabbed onto Combeferre's shoulder for balance. "I'd love to let you keep it, but I need it to breathe." I whispered. 

Combeferre took the Life Line off of Daisy gently before attaching it back to me. "Julien…" He began. 

I shook my head. "Don't." I replied, inhaling heavily. Daisy looked worried. 

"Did I hurt you?" She asked nervously. 

"No, sweetheart, no you didn't." I replied in my hoarse voice. "It's just…I can't breathe by myself." 

Combeferre rubbed his sister's back. "It's okay, princess. Go tell Mommy we need an extra plate for dinner." He said before setting his sister on the floor. 

I shook my head again. "No, Vegas, I don't want to be a bother." I said. 

He smiled slightly. "Nonsense! Mother loves having guests. I rarely bring any friends home. More specifically, ones that I find rather stunning." He replied before leading me into the kitchen. 

There was his mother cooking something over the stove with Daisy at her side. She had the same skin tone, hair color, and face structure as Combeferre. I wondered what his father looked like. 

"Mother, this is Julien. He's a friend of Nathaniel's." Combeferre said. 

His mother looked up and smiled. "Hello, Julien. I'm Anastasia. Call me Ana, please." She said, reaching out to shake my hand. 

I grinned and took it in mine. "Hello, madame." I replied. 

Combeferre seemed to be watching his baby sister to make sure she didn't touch the burning stove. Ana looked to her son. "Did you thank Nathaniel for inviting you?" She asked.

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He replied before looking to me. "Come on, I'll show you my room." He added. 

His hand grasped mine, and he led me to a staircase that went into what I assumed was the basement. I put my Buddy on my back and carefully and slowly walked down the stairs. Combeferre made sure I didn't trip or anything. When I finally made it down, he led me to a couch which I gratefully collapsed on. He sat down next to me and held my hand. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, a bit nervous. 

I nodded. "Yeah…" I breathed. "Just…stairs…" 

Combeferre watched me and rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand, patiently waiting for me to catch my breath. When I did, I opened my eyes and looked to him to see him smile. 

"Better?" He asked. 

"Yeah." I replied. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Now tell me, Julien, what's your story?" He asked. 

I watched him for a second. "Well, I was diagnosed when I was 13 after I had an episode during Youth Leg in front of everybody. I shouldn't have lived, they said. I was a warrior apparently. When they found it, they didn't expect me to live much longer. They gave me Phalanxifor, which shrunk my tumors. It wasn't supposed to actually work, but it did." I began. "I have thyroid cancer. Stage IV. So I'm just waiting to die, you know? I mean, death is inevitable at this point. We just don't know when. I could have an episode right now, and it would probably be the end of me." 

Combeferre stared at me for a moment as if he was taking in my appearance. "Death is inevitable. It will happen eventually. Doesn't matter how you die. As long as you leave your mark, then you're good to go." He told me.

"How am I supposed to know that I left my mark?" I questioned. 

"Trust me," He replied, "You have." 

I smiled slightly and squeezed his hand. "Go ahead. Tell me your story." I whispered. 

Combeferre pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before beginning, "I got osteosarcoma when I was sixteen. I was a basketball and swimming star for my high school. It was in my leg. The only thing I could do was get it amputated with an 85% chance of living. Well, I took that chance. My father passed about a year ago from being in the military. So, that leaves me to watch over my mother and sister. That's why I have to stay alive." He explained. 

"Oh…I'm so sorry…" I breathed. 

Combeferre shook his head. "It's okay. Never really knew him anyway. He was always gone…time to change the subject. What's your favorite movie? I may have it." He said. 

I shrugged and smiled slightly. "You probably won't have it." I mumbled. 

"Try me." 

"Phantom of the Opera." I whispered. 

Combeferre grinned at me and got off the couch. He knelt down in front of the TV across from the couch and pressed play. The movie had already been in the player. I grinned and watched him as he came back to sit next to me.

"It's my favorite, too." He said before wrapping an arm around my shoulders. 

I leaned into his touch, which felt warm and welcoming. The movie began, and we were silent for the first fifteen minutes until I finally asked, "What did you use your Wish for?" 

Combeferre didn't move his eyes from the TV screen. "I haven't used my Wish yet." He replied. "What about you?" 

There was an awkward silence. He slowly looked down to me with an unimpressed look on his face. "No." He mumbled. I didn't say anything. "You did not use your one dying Wish to go to Disneyland." He said. 

"And Epcot! Come on, I was 13 and I had never been." I tried to reason, laughing a bit. 

Combeferre laughed and buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe I have a crush on a guy with such cliche wishes!" He exclaimed. 

I tilted my head. "Crush?" I asked. 

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Like you didn't know." He replied. 

I smiled and leaned back against him, returning my view to the TV screen. "I suppose I may return the affection…" I breathed. 

Combeferre held me closer and tilted his head so it rested perfectly on mine. Never had I felt so comfortable in years. It wasn't long before we ate dinner, and he drove me home. 

He held my hand as he walked me up the driveway to my house. "It was a rather exciting day." He said as we approached the door. 

"It was." I replied, squeezing his hand gently. 

"Shall I see you again tomorrow?" He asked. 

I looked up to meet his dark brown eyes hidden behind the glasses. "That is up to you." I replied before opening the door to the house. "Good night, Paul Vegas." 

"Good night, Julien."


	4. Half Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Enjolras' 33rd Half Birthday, so to celebrate, he heads to the mall with Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Jessica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TFIOS -> John Green  
> Les Mis -> Victor Hugo

"Julien! Julien, wake up!" My mother exclaimed. 

I grumbled sleepily and turned over. "What...what's wrong?" I questioned, assuming I may have accidentally let my nubbins slip out of my nose over night. 

"It's your 33rd half birthday!" She replied happily. 

My 33rd half birthday...? In other words, I was officially 16 and a half. My parents always celebrated my half birthdays because I might not live an entire year to reach the next annual one. 

"Oh...okay." I mumbled, sluggishly moving out of bed. 

"You can go out with some friends today...I called Nathaniel to see if he wanted to hang out, and he said to meet him at the mall." She said. 

I sighed heavily and nodded. "Okay." I agreed as I reconnected to my Buddy and dragged it into the kitchen where my father placed a kiss on my temple. 

"Happy half birthday." He said before handing me a plate with a cupcake on it. 

I smiled slightly and returned his side hug. "Thanks, Dad." I breathed before sitting down at the table. 

My phone buzzed in my Buddy's bag (it was kept in a backpack kind of thing that rolled around). I pulled it out and read the text message. 

'Happy half birthday! Nate told me it was today. He's dragging me along to the mall with him, so I'll see you there.' It was from Combeferre.

I smiled and replied, 'Thanks! See ya soon then.' 

"What are you smiling at?" Mom questioned. 

I hadn't been paying attention. It took me to place my phone back in my Buddy's bag and to eat a bite of my cupcake to realize that my parents were both staring at me. 

"Hm?" I questioned. 

"You were all smiley from looking at your phone. What was it?" Mom clarified. 

I blushed and smiled again. "Oh...it's nothing." I replied. 

"Was it that boy from yesterday?" My father asked. 

I nodded again. "Yeah...his name is Paul Vegas. But," I continued, my smile fading, "he seems too perfect. Like I know he'll probably drop me like a hot plate."

My mom smiled, and she looked actually happy for once. "I'm sure he really likes you, Julien." She said. 

I didn't say anything else. I sure hoped that he liked me. After breakfast, I changed into my navy shorts and white t-shirt before waiting at the door. My mother drove me over to the mall. Courfeyrac was there with his girlfriend, Jessica, and Combeferre. 

I got out of the car and turned to wave. "Bye, Mom." I said. 

"You have three hours before we go to our dinner reservations." She replied before driving off. 

God it was hot as hell outside. When I walked over to Courfeyrac and co. I realized that Combeferre was wearing full length jeans with a football jersey. Wasn't he burning up? Sure I understood hiding his leg, but sometimes there could be an exception in this kind of weather.

"Hey, guys." I said in my stupid smoker voice as I approached. 

Courfeyrac looked to me and grinned. "Hey, Jules! Happy 33rd!" He exclaimed. 

I smiled and laughed slightly. "Thanks." I replied. 

Combeferre looked me over and smiled. "Hey." He said. 

"Hey." I replied softly. 

His hand found mine, and he held it gently. I smiled and looked to Courfeyrac and Jessica, who seemed to be inseparable in their own joint of hands. 

"So what do you wanna do, Julien?" Courfeyrac asked. 

I shrugged. "I don't mind." I replied. 

Combeferre squeezed my hand. "Come on, it's your half birthday, not ours. Just...what's your favorite pastime?" He asked. 

I shrugged. "Reading or writing." I replied timidly. 

"Then let's go up to Books-A-Million." Jessica suggested. 

The only problem with this mall was that there weren't any escalators. Only stairs. When we approached them, I let out an uneasy sigh, as did Combeferre. He looked to me and squeezed my hand gently. 

"Let's do this together." He said with that beautiful grin on his face. 

He wrapped his arm securely around my waist and we slowly progressed up the stairs. To make it easier for me, he put Buddy on his back so I wouldn't have to lug it up. When we made it, he led us over to a bench and sat down. 

Courfeyrac and Jessica told us that they were going to the bathroom. Together? Why, of course. Combeferre rolled up his pant leg to check if his prosthetic had been damaged. From what I had been told from people over the years in hospitals, some prosthetic legs can't handle stairs. 

When he was finished, he coiled his arm around my shoulders and held me close. I was very dizzy, so I willingly tucked my head into his neck. He rested his head atop of mine. His heart was also pounding. 

"So I see that stairs affect you too." He whispered in my ear. 

I nodded, breathing heavily. It was relaxing to be in his embrace once again. When I finally caught my breath, I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you for helping me." I breathed. 

I could tell he smiled by the tightening of his facial muscles. "It's not a problem at all." He replied before squeezing my hand back. 

We sat there for a little bit longer. "Why do Jessica and Nathan always say 'always' whenever they leave? Is it like a promise to always be together?" I finally broke the silence. 

"Something like that. And trust me, it's not just when they leave. It's all the time...they've been trying to spend every moment with each other before his surgery...you know before he goes blind." Combeferre explained. 

"How did you two meet?" I asked, remembering when Courfeyrac told me that he met Combeferre in the hospital. 

He shifted so we were both more comfortable. "Well, when I was in the hospital after I lost my leg, Nathan had just gotten his eye taken out. We were the only teenagers in the hospital, so we decided hey-let's-become-friends. We've been pretty close ever since." He explained. 

I nodded and finally stood up. He stood with me and without saying a word, we walked into the book store. We slowly strolled through the teen fiction section. 

"Do you have any books in mind?" He asked. 

I shook my head. "Not really...just something new." I answered. 

He smiled, reached into the bookshelf, and pulled out a book. "Here, read this." He told me. "It's my favorite book."

I read the title: To Kill a Mockingbird. I looked to him and smirked. "Only if you read my favorite book." I replied, pulling a book out of the case. 

"An Imperial Affliction?" He questioned. 

"Yeah, it's about a girl with cancer...I don't know, it's just a realistic account of someone with it." I explained. 

He read the back before smiling. He looked over to the small cafe connected to the store. "Do you want to get some coffee, and we can sit while we read?" He asked. 

I smiled and looked to the cafe before nodding. "Yeah." I breathed. 

Combeferre and I got our coffee and sat down at a tiny table. He kept our fingers linked together. Under the table, our feet were pressed against each other's. Occasionally I would look up from my book to find Combeferre with his glasses slipping down his nose and he would push them back up absentmindedly as he eagerly read the text. Eventually he looked up and met my eyes. 

He grinned. "What?" He asked. 

I blushed from being caught. It was then that I realized that he had his cigarette in between his teeth. To cover up my embarrassment, I snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and placed it in between my own teeth. He laughed and squeezed my hand. 

"I wouldn't be smoking if I had lung cancer, Julien Enjolras." He said. 

I laughed and handed the cigarette back to him. "Here." I said. 

"No, you can keep it. I'm sure they'll never give you one with you lugging that tank around." He replied. 

I smiled and placed the cigarette in my Buddy's bag. Finally, two hours later, we left the book shop. Combeferre was half way through An Imperial Affliction, and I had 10 pages left in To Kill a Mockingbird. He pulled out his phone to call Courfeyrac. 

"Where is that kid? God, he was supposed to be with us." He mumbled. 

I smiled and rested my head on his arm. "I didn't mind spending it with just you." I whispered. 

He chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around me. Courfeyrac didn't answer his phone. 

"I'm sure they went home." He mumbled, knowing what the two were doing. 

I laughed and rolled my eyes. We did our unfortunate journey down the stairs before sitting down for a bit to rest. His leg was still in order and my lungs hadn't exploded. We were okay. 

He walked me outside where my parents soon pulled up to the curb. My mother rolled the window down since she was in the passenger seat. 

"Hey, Julien. Who is this?" She asked, acting oblivious. 

I smiled and squeezed Combeferre's hand. "This is Paul Vegas Combeferre. Vegas, this is my mom and dad." I croaked. 

The three exchanged salutations before Combeferre opened the back door for me to get in. He helped me into the car before putting Buddy in. 

"Would you like to join us Paul Vegas?" My father asked. 

Combeferre smiled. "Thank you, Monsieur, but I cannot. I have my family to take care of tonight." He replied simply. 

I looked to him and grabbed his hand to squeeze it. "Goodbye, Vegas." I breathed. 

"Goodbye, Julien. I'll text you when I finish the book." He replied before shutting the car door. 

We waved through the window before my father drove away. "He's a nice boy." He said. 

"What did he mean by his 'family?' Does he have a child or something?" Mom questioned. 

"No. He lives with his mother and baby sister. His father was killed in the military." I replied simply. 

She made a sad sound. "Aw...well, he certainly is a handsome one. You should hold on to him." She said. 

I smiled slightly and looked out the window as we drove. What would happen to Combeferre? When I died I mean. Would he be hurt? What if I wounded him? I couldn't fall in love with him...now I was just crushing on him. Falling in love meant I would never get back up. I couldn't hurt Combeferre.


	5. The Night of the Broken Trophies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras visits Combeferre and they experience lose himself after his rough break up with Jessica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Green = TFIOS  
> Victor Hugo = Les Mis

I sat in my bed that night reading To Kill a Mockingbird for a second time. I could see why it was Combeferre's favorite book. The equality issue really got to me. Freedom and Equality: Two things that I cherished most in my heart. If I am going to die of cancer and they change the law before I do, there was no way cancer will be the thing killing me. My phone buzzed on my bedside table. I picked it up and smiled.

"Hey, Vegas." I said when I answered. 

"Hey, Julien. What's up?" He replied. 

"Just re-reading To Kill a Mockingbird." I replied. 

"So you liked it?" 

"Absolutely! How's An Imperial Affliction?" 

"I'm nearly done. What's up with the Dutch Tulip Man? I'm getting a bad vibe from him."

I laughed softly. "No spoilers." I replied. "So you're really into the book?"

"Withholding judgment! When can I see you?"

"Certainly not until you finish An Imperial Affliction." I enjoyed being coy.

"Then I'd better hang up and start reading."

"You'd better," I said, and the line clicked dead without another word.

Flirting was new to me, but I liked it.

The next morning I had Twentieth-Century American Poetry at the local community college (I attended since I got my GED online). This old woman gave a lecture wherein she managed to talk for ninety minutes about Sylvia Plath without ever once quoting a single word of Sylvia Plath.

When I got out of class, Mom was waiting at the curb in front of the building. "Did you just wait here the entire time?" I asked as she hurried around to help me haul my Buddy into the car. "No, I picked up the dry cleaning and went to the post office."

"And then?"

"I have a book to read," she said.

"And I'm the one who needs to get a life." I smiled, and she tried to smile back, but there was something flimsy in it. After a second, I said, "Wanna go home and watch a movie?"

"Sure. Anything you've been wanting to see?"

"Let's just scroll through Netflix and see what they have." We drove home and watched a disney movie about an ice princess and her sister and some talking snowman. It was kind of funny, actually.

Throughout the movie, I had four text messages from Combeferre.

1) 'Tell me my copy is missing the last twenty pages or something.'  
2) 'Julien, tell me I have not reached the end of this book.'  
3) 'OH MY GOD DO THEY GET MARRIED OR NOT OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS.'  
4) 'I guess Anna died and so it just ends? CRUEL. Call me when you can. Hope all's okay.'

So when the movie ended I went out into the backyard and sat down on the grass and called him. Combeferre picked up on the third ring. "Julien," he said.

"So welcome to the sweet torture of reading An Imperial—" I stopped when I heard violent sobbing on the other end of the line. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm grand," Combeferre answered. "I am, however, with Nathan, who seems to be decompensating." More wailing. Like the death cries of some injured animal. Combeferre turned his attention to Courfeyrac. "Dude. Dude. Does Youth Group Julien make this better or worse? Nathan. Focus. On. Me." After a moment, Combeferre said to me, "Can you meet us at my house in about twenty minutes?"

"Sure," I said, and hung up.

I grabbed the keys to the car, announced where I was going to my family, and then drove to Combeferre's house. I arrived about 15 minutes later. 

It was Ana who opened the door. She grinned when she saw me. "Hey, Julien!" She said. "Paul's down in his room with Nathan." A pained look on her face warned me of the dangers below.

I grinned and nodded. "Thank you." I replied before beginning the journey down the stairs. 

There were voices coming from downstairs. When I nearly dropped Buddy down the stairs from my weak limbs, Combeferre turns around. Immediately he began helping down the stairs. 

"Hey." He said when we reached the floor. 

"Hey." I replied, looking to Courfeyrac. "What's wrong?" I asked Combeferre. 

He looked to our friend, who was sitting on the couch playing video games. "Jessica broke up with him. Completely dumped him." He replied. 

"The day before his surgery? That's cruel!" I exclaimed in a whisper. 

Combeferre nodded and looked to me. He rubbed my waist. "You look good in this color." He said matter-of-factly.

I blushed and smiled. I was wearing a red shirt that had 'Liberte' written on it along with black jeans. We both sat down, Combeferre in the middle. I looked over to Courfeyrac. "Hey, Nathan, how are you holding up?" I asked. 

"Life sucks." He replied simply, his voice thick from crying. 

Combeferre picked up the other controller and started a new game. It was a pretty violent game. One I never played anyway. Usually my family and I would sit on the couch and play Mario Kart or something. The game began and the characters started moving. The man in blue was Combeferre and the man in green was Courfeyrac from what I understood. 

"This is how he calms down." Combeferre explained.

Courfeyrac shot a few bullets toward the enemy before ducking behind a rock. Combeferre launched a grenade and dodged some bullets. 

"She said that SHE couldn't take it. Because she's definitely the one permanently losing their eyesight for good." Courfeyrac growled. "She said always. Always was our promise!" He added. 

"Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them," I said.

Courfeyrac shot me a look. "Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway. Don't you believe in true love?"

I didn't answer. I had never been in love. While I was turned facing Courfeyrac, I could feel Combeferre's real leg against mine and his warm arm linked with my right one. My face must have reddened because I was suddenly hot. 

"Well, I believe in true love," Courfeyrac said. "And I love her. And she promised. She promised me always." He stood and took a step toward me. I pushed myself up, thinking he wanted a hug or something, but then he just spun around, like he couldn't remember why he'd stood up in the first place, and then Combeferre and I both saw this rage settle into his face.

"Nathan," Combeferre said.

"What?"

"You look a little...Pardon the double entendre, my friend, but there's something a little worrisome in your eyes." 

Suddenly Courfeyrac started kicking the crap out of his gaming chair, which somersaulted back toward Combeferre's bed. "Here we go," said Combeferre.

Courfeyrac chased after the chair and kicked it again. "Yes," Combeferre said. "Get it. Kick the hell out of that chair!" 

Courfeyrac kicked the chair again, until it bounced against Combeferre's bed, and then he grabbed one of the pillows and started slamming it against the wall between the bed and the trophy shelf above.

Combeferre looked over at me, cigarette in his mouth, and half smiled. "I can't stop thinking about that book."

"I know, right?"

"He never said what happens to the other characters?"

"No," I told him. Courfeyrac was still beating the wall with the pillow. "He moved to Amsterdam, which makes me think maybe he is writing a sequel featuring the Dutch Tulip Man, but he hasn't published anything. He's never interviewed. He doesn't seem to be online. I've written him a bunch of letters asking what happens to everyone, but he never responds. So...yeah."

I stopped talking because Combeferre didn't appear to be listening. Instead, he was squinting at Courfeyrac. 

"Hold on," he said to me. He walked over to Courfeyrac and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Dude, pillows don't break. Try something that breaks."

Courfeyrac reached for a basketball trophy from the shelf above the bed and then held it over his head as if waiting for permission. "Yes," Combeferre said. "Yes!" The trophy smashed against the floor, the plastic basketball player's body splintering off, snapped in half. Courfeyrac stomped on the trophy. 

"Yes!" Combeferre said. "Get it!"

And then back to me, "I've been looking for a way to tell my family that I actually sort of hate basketball, and I think we've found it." 

The trophies came down one after the other, and Courfeyrac stomped on them and screamed while Combeferre and I stood a few feet away, bearing witness to the chaos. The mangled bodies of plastic basketballers trashed the carpeted ground. Courfeyrac kept attacking the trophies, jumping on them with both feet, screaming, breathless, sweaty, until finally he collapsed on top of the jagged trophic remnants.

Combeferre stepped toward him and looked down. "Feel better?" he asked.

"No," Courfeyrac mumbled, his chest heaving.

"That's the thing about pain," Combeferre said, and then glanced back at me. "It demands to be felt."


	6. Emails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Van Houton responds to both Enjolras and Combeferre, and then the two chat for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TFIOS to John Green  
> Les Mis to Victor Hugo

I did not speak to Combeferre again for about a week. I had called him on the Night of the Broken Trophies, so I assumed it was his turn to call. But he didn't. Now, it wasn't as if I held my phone in my hand all day, staring at it patiently waiting for my gentleman caller to live up to his little façade. I went on with my life: I met Grantaire and Eponine for coffee one afternoon; I took my recommended daily allowance of Phalanxifor; I attended classes three mornings that week at the college; and every night, I sat down to dinner with my mom and dad.

Sunday night, we had pizza with just cheese. We were seated around our little circular table in the kitchen when my phone started singing, but I wasn't allowed to check it because we have a strict no-phones-during-dinner rule.

So I ate a little while Mom and Dad talked about this earthquake that had just happened in Marseilles. My mother was a meteorologist so she was always up to date with this stuff. Their conversation was deep enough that they didn't even glance over at me as I ate faster than I'd ever eaten, which left me quite out of breath, which of course made me worry that my lungs were again swimming in a rising pool of fluid. I banished the thought as best I could. I had a PET scan scheduled in a couple weeks. If something was wrong, I'd find out soon enough. Nothing to be gained by worrying between now and then.

Finally I finished and said, "Can I be excused?" and they hardly even paused from their conversation about the tiny local earthquakes we would have. I grabbed my phone from the little pocket on my Buddy's bag and checked my recent calls. Paul Vegas Combeferre.

I went out the back door into the night. I could see the swing set, and I thought about walking out there and swinging while I talked to him, but it seemed pretty far away given that eating tired me.

Instead, I lay down in the grass on the patio's edge, looked up at the stars, and called him. "Julien," he said.

"Hi," I said. "How are you?"

"Grand," he said. "I have been wanting to call you on a nearly minutely basis, but I have been waiting until I could form a coherent thought in re An Imperial Affliction." (He said "in re." He really did. That boy.)

"And?" I said.

"I think it's, like...reading it, I just kept feeling like, like."

"Like?" I asked, teasing him.

"Like it was a gift?" he said askingly. "Like you'd given me something important."

"Oh," I said quietly.

"That's cheesy," he said. "I'm sorry."

"No," I said. "No. Don't apologize."

"But it doesn't end."

"Yeah," I said.

"Torture. I totally get it, like, I get that she died or whatever."

"Right, I assume so," I said.

"And okay, fair enough, but there is this unwritten contract between author and reader and I think not ending your book kind of violates that contract."

"I don't know," I said, feeling defensive of Peter Van Houten. "That's part of what I like about the book in some ways. It portrays death truthfully. You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence. But I do—God, I do really want to know what happens to everyone else. That's what I asked him in my letters. But he, yeah, he never answers."

"Right. You said he is a recluse?"

"Correct."

"Impossible to track down."

"Correct."

"Utterly unreachable," Combeferre said.

"Unfortunately so," I said.

"'Dear Mr. Combeferre,'" he answered. "'I am writing to thank you for your electronic correspondence, received via Ms. Vliegenthart this sixth of June, from the France, insofar as geography can be said to exist in our triumphantly digitized contemporaneity.'"

"Vegas, what the hell?"

"He has an assistant," Combeferre said. "Lidewij Vliegenthart. I found her. I emailed her. She gave him the email. He responded via her email account."

"Okay, okay. Keep reading."

"'My response is being written with ink and paper in the glorious tradition of our ancestors and then transcribed by Ms. Vliegenthart into a series of 1s and 0s to travel through the insipid web which has lately ensnared our species, so I apologize for any errors or omissions that may result.

"'Given the entertainment bacchanalia at the disposal of young men and women of your generation, I am grateful to anyone anywhere who sets aside the hours necessary to read my little book. But I am particularly indebted to you, sir, both for your kind words about An Imperial Affliction and for taking the time to tell me that the book, and here I quote you directly, "meant a great deal" to you.

"'This comment, however, leads me to wonder: What do you mean by meant? Given the final futility of our struggle, is the fleeting jolt of meaning that art gives us valuable? Or is the only value in passing the time as comfortably as possible? What should a story seek to emulate, Paul Vegas? A ringing alarm? A call to arms? A morphine drip? Of course, like all interrogation of the universe, this line of inquiry inevitably reduces us to asking what it means to be human and whether—to borrow a phrase from the angst-encumbered sixteen-year-olds you no doubt revile—there is a point to it all.

"'I fear there is not, my friend, and that you would receive scant encouragement from further encounters with my writing. But to answer your question: No, I have not written anything else, nor will I. I do not feel that continuing to share my thoughts with readers would benefit either them or me. Thank you again for your generous email.

"'Yours most sincerely, Peter Van Houten, via Lidewij Vliegenthart.'"

"Wow," I said. "Are you making this up?"

"Julien, I would never ever write something so fancy if I were forging it for an author. I would've used every day language."

"You would," I allowed. "Can I, can I have the email address?"

"Of course," Combeferre said, like it was not the best gift ever.

I spent the next two hours writing an email to Peter Van Houten. It seemed to get worse each time I rewrote it, but I couldn't stop myself.

Dear Mr. Peter Van Houten (c/o Lidewij Vliegenthart),

My name is Julien Enjolras. My friend Paul Vegas Combeferre, who read An Imperial Affliction at my recommendation, just received an email from you at this address. I hope you will not mind that Paul Vegas shared that email with me.

Mr. Van Houten, I understand from your email to Paul Vegas that you are not planning to publish any more books. In a way, I am disappointed, but I'm also relieved: I never have to worry whether your next book will live up to the magnificent perfection of the original. As a three-year survivor of Stage IV cancer, I can tell you that you got everything right in An Imperial Affliction. Or at least you got me right. Your book has a way of telling me what I'm feeling before I even feel it, and I've reread it dozens of times.

I wonder, though, if you would mind answering a couple questions I have about what happens after the end of the novel. I understand the book ends because Anna dies or becomes too ill to continue writing it, but I would really like to know what happens to Anna's mom—whether she married the Dutch Tulip Man, whether she ever has another child, and whether she stays at 917 W. Temple, etc. Also, is the Dutch Tulip Man a fraud or does he really love them? What happens to Anna's friends—particularly Claire and Jake? Do they stay together? And lastly—I realize that this is the kind of deep and thoughtful question you always hoped your readers would ask— what becomes of Sisyphus the Hamster? These questions have haunted me for years—and I don't know how long I have left to get answers to them.

I know these are not important literary questions and that your book is full of important literary questions, but I would just really like to know.

And of course, if you ever do decide to write anything else, even if you don't want to publish it, I'd love to read it. Frankly, I'd read your grocery lists.  
Yours with great admiration, Julien Enjolras.  
(age 16)

After I sent it, I called Paul Vegas back, and we stayed up late talking about An Imperial Affliction, and I read him the Emily Dickinson poem that Van Houten had used for the title, and he said I had a good voice for reading and didn't pause too long for the line breaks, and then he told me that a book he read before An Imperial Affliction begins with a quote from a poem. It took him a minute to find the book, but finally he read the quote to me. "'Say your life broke down. The last good kiss / You had was years ago.'"

"Not bad," I said.

And then after a second, Combeferre asked, "When was the last good kiss you had?"

I thought about it. My kissing—all prediagnosis—had been uncomfortable and slobbery, and on some level it always felt like kids playing at being grown. But of course it had been a while. "Years ago," I said finally. "You?"

"I had a few good kisses with my ex-girlfriend, Lisa Moreaux."

"Years ago?"

"The last one was just less than a year ago."

"What happened?"

"During the kiss?"

"No, with you and Lisa."

"Oh," he said. And then after a second, "Lisa is no longer suffering from personhood."

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said. I'd known plenty of dead people, of course. But I'd never dated one. I couldn't even imagine it, really.

"Not your fault, Julien. We're all just side effects, right?"

"'Barnacles on the container ship of consciousness,'" I said, quoting AIA.

"Okay," he said. "I gotta go to sleep. It's almost one."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," he said.

I chuckled and said, "Okay." And then the line was quiet but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.

"Okay," he said after forever. "Maybe okay will be our always."

"Okay," I said.

It was Combeferre who finally hung up.


End file.
